


Magicians and Mayhem

by Lia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossing over two of Flamethrower's fanfictions, Crossover, Crossover Chaos, Crowley is so done, Flamethrower, GFY, M/M, More tags later, fanficiton of fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lia/pseuds/Lia
Summary: Look, this is a purely self indulgent piece. It's a crossover between two works by Flamethrower - their Innocuous Juxtapositions series and their Of a Linear Circle series. You will not make sense of this work without having read at least one of them. Preferably both.Crowley has had a very long weekend, taking off from The Serpent and the Storm, and he's taking a day's rest in Sheffield with Warlock. Then witch shows up asking for Warlock, something about a school, and his rest day gets a lot more complicated.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	Magicians and Mayhem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Of a Linear Circle - Part I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11284494) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 
  * Inspired by [The Serpent and the Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169421) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 



> Welcome to my self indulgent nonsense. I have no idea when chapter 2 will be posted, as it's not written yet, but I wanted to throw this up anyway. Anyway, Crowley and Warlock? Meet Pomona Sprout.
> 
> No, seriously, you will not understand this without reading the works it's Inspired By.

# Magicians and Mayhem

###  **Of Witches and Warlocks**

Pomona Sprout knocked on the door in Sheffield. It had been a very long week for Britain, especially those who had started last Friday in Greater London and had to evacuate over the weekend, but certain things still needed to happen in a timely manner.

First September, after all, was only a few short months away.

A baby started crying inside.

Oh, dear. That one sounds very, very young, Pomona thinks to herself, and she hadn’t meant to set off _that_ kind of alarm. 

She adjusts her hat, waits for the baby’s crying to stop, and a moment later the door opens.

“What the bloody blazes do you want, then?” 

The man before her was lean lines of exhaustion wrapped in black clothes, holding the baby - properly - against his chest and shoulder. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but other than that, he looked vaguely familiar, like she’d seen his face somewhere before. 

No time to follow that hint in her mind to figure that out.

“Hello,” she greeted the man and consulted the scroll before her, mostly for show, “I'm looking for a Warlock Dowling and his parents or guardians?” 

Intelligent suspicion graced the man’s features and he raked her with an uncomfortably piercing look that made her glad she knew Mind Magic, though she had no reason to believe the man before her was magical.

It occurred to her then that after the news clips from this week, which included actual flying saucers helping evacuate London, and flying *people* helping to evacuate London, not to mention the world she herself lived in, that she had no guarantee he was even human.

“Well, Ambassador Dowling, as you might have seen on the news, is dead by Racnoss,” the man says snidely, and she winces in sympathy. “Mrs. Dowling is not available, but I’m _in loco parentis_ for Warlock Dowling,” he glared.

She winces in sympathy and stands straight. She’s faced many a hostile parent in her years of being Head Teacher, after all. Maybe no one who radiates as much power as this probably-man, but still.

“Forgive me, my name is Pomona Sprout. I’m Head Teacher for a school of students with specific talents, and Warlock Dowling is invited to attend. May I discuss it further with you and him today?”

He made a little show of peering around her and seeing that there was no car in sight, and then motioned her inside.

“Let me get Warlock,” he said, “And for - something’s sake, don’t touch anything, especially not _that_.” He motioned to something filled with circuitry and wiring across the great room that looked like it ought to have someone at the helm, and exited into another part of the house.

Pomona hesitated and looked around, keeping her briefcase held to one side. There was a crib on the other end of the room from the techno-whatsit, and various baby supplies. The other belongings were scattered as though the place was just recently occupied, and really, it seemed like that was the case. She did recall, of course, that Warlock Dowling’s address in the School Ledger was, until last weekend, within greater London, like an unfortunate number of her other students, no matter their heritage.

“Warlock, this is the mysterious lady who showed up without a car on our doorstep looking for you. Something about a school. Mysterious Pomona Sprout, this is Warlock Dowling,” the man introduced her as they entered the room.

“I’m sorry for your recent loss, Mr. Dowling,” she greeted the boy, who didn’t look overly grieving, but goodness knows that she’s seen all sorts of different ways grief takes a person, especially a child. “My proper title is Head Teacher Sprout, and I’m here to tell you that you’ve been accepted to Hogwarts School of Magic. May I sit? There is much we should discuss.”

***

He blames Israfil for this, Crowley thinks. After all, his brother was the one who ordered him to take a rest day, no miracles allowed, to allow the bruised channels of his body and soul to heal after being trapped in London. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here right now, he’d be bloody well helping with the cleanup and camps.

Hell, he had been bloody napping upstairs, before the knock on the door, which he would have ignored had it not awoken Phoenix from _her_ nap.

Now there’s a witch in his new - temporary? - living room, which he only just realized, offering Warlock to go to a school for it all, and here he thought she was just a social worker or something checking up on the boy. But no, she’s a bloody magic user, and he’s been avoiding those since the bloody 1400s, thank you. 

“Oh, Magic like Anathema was teaching me?” Warlock cranes his neck up to look at Crowley, barely paying attention to the woman, good boy.

“I guess so,” Crowley answered kindly, placing a miraculously sleeping Phoenix back in her crib before sitting down himself. “I didn’t know they had a school for it, though,” he glared at the woman.

 _What’s got your knickers in a twist* now,_ Israfil nudged him, _I can feel that mood from here._

*Israfil had picked that phrase up from Aziraphale, and was using it to annoy his brother.

Crowley showed him and got a terse reminder, _Well, let me know if you need me to be there, and remember NO Miracles, idiot._

Oh, he’s an idiot who didn’t set good enough wards around this property, not if a bloody human witch can get through to him like this.

“Well, I must say, it’s somewhat nice to have a visit with a nonmagical family where I don’t have to convince them that magic exists, Mr… “ the witch trailed off, looking at Crowley sternly.

Right. He hadn’t introduced himself, so pissed at his nap being interrupted. But this was Warlock’s potential schooling, so. He probably shouldn’t piss off the Head Teacher too much just yet, especially when she had been otherwise polite. Mostly.

“Crowley. Anthony J, if you need it for paperwork, but everyone calls me Crowley.”

“Mr. Crowley. I’m sorry, it’s bothering me a bit, but you look terribly familiar.”

“He was on the news. Helping with the evacuation,” Warlock piped up.

Good kid.

“And now he’s on Healer’s Orders to rest and recuperate,” the little Hellion continued.

“Thanks, Hellspawn,” he replied, dripping with sarcasm*.

*Loving sarcasm, Warlock knew.

“Should we make an appointment for another time, then?” Sprout asked.

Crowley cleared his throat and tried not to look too menacing. “No, I’m fine to talk. Just can’t do… well. Much else besides take care of the kids for the day. Everyone else is off. Doing things,” he waved vaguely in the air.

His daughter was off in a future century and had dragged most of her lot with her, especially Donna, who had her by the ear to visit the 51st. (Crowley wasn’t touching the time travel; he’d get there the slow way eventually.) Wilf and Nat from Redhill were finally having that coffee and gossip. The Torchwood lot were in meetings upon meetings now that the evacuation had finished, with everyone deciding what to do next. Israfil was commanding the medical tents still, as well as everyone else from Above left on Earth, and Ba’al. And Aziraphale was still stuck Upstairs, where Crowley couldn’t go because of his own injuries, and that ached deep in his soul.

“Well. If this is a good time, we’ll go over some of the basics. Hogwarts school of Magic is a school for children with magical potential. The Ministry of Magic, which governs magicians in Britain, along with some international cooperation, passed a resolution called the Statue of Secrecy some centuries ago that hides magical people from nonmagical eyes. You’ll also hear the term “Muggle” used for nonmagical people, particularly from the older generation, but it’s considered… not _quite_ a slur, but it’s considered gauche these days.”

Professor Sprout rattled on a bit until Crowley nearly dropped off. Yes, it was new information, and yes, it was apparently important to Warlock’s future, but he was storing it mentally and could go through it later.

Unless he actually fell asleep, he thought as he realized that the Professor was looking at him in concern, having just asked him a question.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said you don’t look well, dear,” she examined him, gazing at him from top to toe, and Crowley felt uncomfortably examined. “I’m no healer, but, well, would you accept a magical restorative? My understanding of its function is that it boosts the natural reserves of the body. Our Potions Masters are talented enough that it’s formulated to work on the nonmagical as well as the magical… But, well, for nonhumans or half-humans the effects can be nonstandard,” she add, seemingly as an afterthought.

“Hm. Let me smell it and I can tell you if it’s safe for me. Should be, though, I don’t know how effective it would be,” was Crowley’s response. 

“You told me you did a lot in London and you’ve been sleeping all day, Nanny,” Warlock replied worriedly. “You should take it!”

“Now, now, hellspawn, let me think about it firsst,” Crowley replied gently, as the witch before him reached deeply - too deeply - into her bag for a vial. “I burned myself from the inside out a bit, making sure we were all safe, like I told you. If the restorative is too strong, it might actually hurt a bit, and my Brother will yell at me.” Israfil might do more than yell at him if he hurt himself, and if he put his recovery back any further it might mean more time away from Aziraphale.

“That’s because he’s the sane one,” Warlock said.

“Goodness,” said Sprout, looking concerned, “Are you quite sure I should hand this over?” 

“No, but like I said, let me smell it. I’m a Healer myself and I have an excellent sense of smell,” he understated. “I’ll be able to tell if it’s safe for me, and if it’s not I won’t drink it. Don’t want to be leaving the kids here unattended,” Crowley smiled, inviting everyone else in on the joke.

Warlock and Sprout both looked at him as if he were an idiot, which, fair. But Sprout uncapped the vial and handed it over into his grabby hands.

“Trust me,” Crowley said, and tasted the air.

***

“ _Goodness me_ ,” Pomona very nearly shouted as the man before her sniffed the air quickly with his tongue, looking…. Well, looking an awful lot like Kanza did when she was investigating something unfamiliar. 

The tongue, after all, was forked.

“Let’s see,” the man said, and proceeded to name every ingredient in the Restorative potion, the fact that it was brewed in a brass cauldron with a glass stirring rod, and proclaimed that nothing in there would hurt him. Impressed, because as far as her Potions memory went he was completely accurate, Pomona let him keep the vial.

“You’re not human,” she stated, though it was beyond her to know what he was. “Though I suppose you could be an animagus? A magician that can perform self-tranfiguration to turn into animals?”

“Nope,” Mr. Crowley replied. “Never heard of an animagus, definitely not human.”

“He’s Extra-Dimensional,” Warlock replied helpfully, as if that explained things.

She turned her attention back onto the 11 year-old. Most of the time, of course, it was most helpful to get a read on the children in the room, especially as most magical children of non-magical parents in Britain did wind up schooling at Hogwarts, and would ultimately be her charges. 

“But you are, dearie?” she asked.

“No one’s ever told me I wasn’t human,” said Warlock, eyeing Mr. Crowley.

“He’s 100% human as far as I know, yes,” Crowley replied. “And where did you hear that term, Warlock?”

“Someone on the news said it and I asked Israfil and he said yes, that was you guys and Aziraphale! And the Them were discussing it about Adam and said that’s why he had Wings and stuff and I got a promise out of him to see them out in the woods next time we’re there and I know magical isn’t the same thing but can I have wings, Nanny, please?”

Pomona blinked at this large chunk of information and recalled that the term, yes, had been on the news quite a bit, with Extra-Dimensional being discussed much like the Extra Terrestrial flying saucers helping to evacuate London had been - with grudging belief and shock in their existence. The rub was that no one seemed to know quite what those beings could do, though some of them were seen helping teleport people into transport to get out of London and such.

“Oh, shit, Hellspawn,” Mr. Crowley started to say and looked so regretful and so tired, even behind the dark sunglasses, that Pomona stepped in to rescue him.

“Some Magicians can fly, even without brooms,” she replied, “But most use tools to do so, mostly enchanted brooms, like the traditional image of a witch. We even have games played on broomstick, mostly Quidditch, and students can try out to be on their House’s Quidditch team.

“Now, are you going to take that potion, or should I recap it and put it away?” Pomona asked Mr. Crowley.

“It shouldn’t hurt me,” he replied, and, before anyone could object at that faint reassurance, downed the vial.

***

 _That might have been a mistake,_ Crowley thought. The restorative felt like fire in his veins - not hellfire or holy fire, either, but a very earthly fire that wasn’t kind to his already burnt channels.

He was really going to get it from his Brother.

And then, the cooling started. Like aloe against a bad sunburn, the scorched feeling stopped and then was soothed by the pricking of the potion in his body. Crowley sped up his pulse a bit, to give everything a bit more flow through his system like a human would have and get him to equilibrium faster. 

“Bees,” he said suddenly, and at the increase in concerned looks in the room, added, “It was like bees crawling all over me and threatening to sting but they’re gone now. No stinging. Well, a bit of stinging at first, but all gone now. Channels soothed a bit.”

Sprout blinked, fascinated, and said, “My understanding of that potion is that it is a strength restorative and a disease preventer, not a remedy for magical burn out. If I had realized that was the issue I wouldn’t have offered.”

“Not human,” he reminded her gently, “I shouldn’t have taken it either but I was… what’s the term? A bit brain foggy from my nap still. This woke me up.”

She, and Warlock, still looked concerned.

“Trust me, my brother will yell at me later for that stunt, you don’t have to.”

Was yelling at him now in his head, actually, but he told Israfil to piss off and go back to the tents.

 _At least you sound more like yourself,_ his twin said in the back of his mind, and Crowley grinned, knowing he was forgiven.

 _Knowing he was forgiven,_ he blinked in realization, and his grin turned soft and sappy and into a smile and it was because he was, he really really was.

Warlock crossed his arms at that. “He already said it was okay, didn’t he? That’s why your grin turned sappy.”

“Absolutely, Hellspawn,” Crowley replied. 

“Just wait until Aziraphale gets back and you will both be sap city,” Warlock said in fake disgust.

Sprout cleared her throat.

“As fascinating as this is, we should get back on task,” she said regretfully.

“Yeah, you… probably don’t have all day. Sorry,” Crowley replied.

“Meetings such as this one tend to be unpredictable, I’m not fussed,” Sprout replied. 

“But I’ve also had a thought, and I’m sorry for not bringing this up immediately when you told me, but you said Warlock’s mother was unavailable. Is that… situation going to change?” she continued delicately, “I find myself wondering if I’ll have to have a conversation with her, as well. Some nonmagical parents can be resistant to the idea of magic.”

Crowley could feel Warlock’s mood darken beside him. It was a good thing they’d already had a frank conversation about this.

“Without breaching medical privacy, it will be some time before Harriet Dowling is able to deal with caring for her child. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Crowley replied.

Pomona took that statement in stride, though with a little grimace. Student families could be quite complex, and it was easier on families if the child didn’t have to hide their magical status from anyone. However, it seemed that Mr. Crowley had things well in hand.

“We’ll need Legal Paperwork for your guardianship of Mr. Dowling, of course,” and at Warlock’s grimace at his name she hid a smile. “But the situation is new to you, and that can wait a few weeks, particularly with the situation in London. Mr. Dowling, if you are to attend our school, please note that you’ll be expected to respond to your last name from teachers and staff. We’re a proper British boarding school, after all,” she teased slightly, trying to lighten the mood.

Warlock stiffened beside her and his mood visibly darkened.

***

 _Oh no,_ Crowley thought, as the teacher put her foot in it. Completely unknowing, of course, but as Warlock stiffened beside him he knew that this would take more than a usual touch of psychic reminder that he was here.

Crowley’s guess was proven right immediately.

“I don’t want to go away,” the boy said quietly, too bloody quietly. “Don’t send me away, Nanny, please,” he sniffed a bit. Before Crowley could even respond, he stood up and continued, “I don’t want you to go away again!” 

And then he ran for his room, sobbing.

“Excuse me,” Crowley said, standing himself and looking at the startled Sprout - ha - before him. “I need to take care of him.”

Scooping Phoenix back up out of her crib, he reassured the teacher, “Please wait here for a few minutes.” _Fuck it,_ a cup of hot tea and digestives appeared on the table before her, “That is safe to drink,” he said to her startled expression as he strode, long limbed, out after Warlock.

***

The boy’s door was shut, unsurprisingly, and Crowley could tell he was crying into a pillow.

Bless it all, what do you say to a grieving 11 year old who doesn’t know how to grieve, who furthermore misses _Crowley_ of all people more than his own bloody useless parents?

What else could he tell the boy? The truth will have to do.

Crowley knocks and doesn’t wait for a response. “Warlock, I’m coming in,” he says, hint of his Nanny Ashtoreth accent slipping through his words. He enters the room, adjusts Phoenix on his shoulders, and sits on the end of the bed next to the boy sobbing into his pillow.

“There there, cry it out, dear,” he said gently, “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere soon.”

It took Warlock five minutes of murmured reassurances to calm from harsh sobs to a snotty hiccup or three that Crowley dismissed with a comfortable touch.

Some things couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be healed without feeling them first.

“I just got you back,” Warlock sniffled. “I don’t want to go away from you again, Nanny.”

“And if - _if_ \- we both decide that this school is best for you, I’m not sending you away because I want to be away from you, Hellspawn. It’ll be for your education. But that decision doesn’t have to be made today,” Crowley replied as calm as he could. 

Damndamndamndamndamnit, he never meant to give the boy an- an abandonment complex!

“It doesn’t?” 

“It absolutely doesn’t. We only just found out today. We’ll talk it over, you and me, and even Azirapale and Israfil if you want their input. But there’s always regular school, you know, and we could bug Anathema for more lessons in how humans use magic if she’s up for it, and if not, well, we’ll find someone else.”

Warlock sniffled a bit, and calmed down. 

Crowley prayed that all their issues would be so easily handled.

***

As the visit concluded, the teacher, Sprout, had one last surprise for them: A tour of the school was offered for “non heritage students and their families”. After a long look, Warlock nodded, and they RSVP’d and sent the woman on her way. 

Still no car outside, Crowley snorted as she disappeared with a clap of wind rushing in to take her place.

A school for _magic_ , of all things, Crowley snorted derisively. As if he couldn’t teach a human to do some things themselves.


End file.
